


Zeus' Necessities

by sparklight



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Fate & Destiny, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27327961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: Zeus and Ananke have a talk.This is a meditation on necessity and fate, kingship, and, also, infidelity, without discounting the personal responsibility of that.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Zeus' Necessities

Sitting up on Olympos' highest mountaintop, Zeus, the king of Olympos, ruler of the sky and thus one-third of the world, closes his eyes and stretches his awareness out. Up, out, in. Beyond. Ananke meets him partway, becoming like a shawl made of stardust around his shoulders, a crown wrought from the core of the Earth on his head, and no imperative of anything specific at all on his tongue.

It's a relief.

But he'd known that, for otherwise he would have known, would have had to, come up here. Today, he'd come up here because he'd wanted, because he had a question, and by Ananke's presence, they are willing to entertain him. Which means the answer doesn't matter anymore, it's over and done with, and he truly was as much at the mercy of Ananke as everyone and everything else. It feels like betrayal, though that's ridiculous. Ananke can't betray anything, for they are threaded through the cosmos and will only as it may be. They have no care, no interest, no desire beyond what they are. It makes them even less of an individual than some of the other primordial gods are, like Nyx and Erebus, who barely concern themselves with the actual world as it is. It makes Ananke supremely straightforward, though that would be little obvious if one didn't have long awareness of working with them directly.

"Zeus," they greet, his name less a word than it is a feeling, a collection of sensations and phenomena (rain, the charged energy of electricity, driving need, radiant light, the taste-smell of ripe fruit and corn, force and arrogance and dogged determination, and at the edges, traces of cold, Chthonic mist). "What is it?"

They probably already know, since this has to do with them, or rather, what they are and what they have done, which is, in the end, the same thing. But they ask anyway, perhaps because that's how conversations works, perhaps because there is the tiniest of slivers of some individuality underpinning Ananke which means they can ask questions like that because it might amuse them to make him spell it out.

It is probably that. Zeus sneers, then sighs. Capitulates for the inevitable, like he always has to do, though this is a much smaller inevitability than the usual ones he is handed from Ananke.

"There were so many mortal women that caught my interest in such a short time, and then, as we drew back a little, I practically lost complete interest. Why?"

"You ask that, yet you already know, otherwise you wouldn't have asked." There's no obvious depth to his awareness of those words, no clear emotion carrying them, but Zeus can still swear they are shaded both with chiding and teasing.

"I don't like it," he says, mutters, low and reticent. Not quite accusing. "It makes me feel used."

A pause. Then laughter, actual laughter rings around him, echoing like any laughter ought up here on the mountaintop, being immediately snatched away by the wind. It also makes him quake down to the very core, threatening to spill him out over eternity, a far vaster distance of reality than any but the most primordial deities - and most of the time, not even them - could cover.

"Your lust is your own. You would stray with or without external forces. You proved that with the first one," they say, and there's a touch at his shoulders, dizzying and yet weighing more than the whole of the solar system and it keeps him rooted. That's not a lie, either. He would, and they both know it. He does have far more control over himself nowadays, however. "You move both gods and mortals as it will be, because it has to be, oh Father of Gods and Men, but you so often watch and ache for it, separate because you see what will be done and most often have little part in it. Perhaps it was you along with your brother because it was to keep you humble when you finally understood. In the meantime, there was always your wife's disapproval."

There's a kiss to his forehead, all the Earth and outer space in it, and Zeus closes his eyes and exhales. Annoyed, and at peace. No less displeased, honestly, and he feels a little duped when this is certainly a lot more than, say, only Leda for the necessity of Helen's existence in the greater chain of events that ended with the war. But it'd been more than that, hadn't it? And here he was now, understanding how part of his nature had been used against him for whatever the necessity of it was, and he can see why. A woman's (and thus a goddess') contribution to a child's existence is heavier, takes more time, resources and effort. Aphrodite took her turn in this, but that only emphasized the time it took, and if the goddesses should've done as he and Poseidon - and, in smaller contribution, his sons - had done to shoulder some of the responsibility, it would have taken a lot more time. And if the specific span of time was sensitive, it couldn't _take_ a lot of time. In the end they are all related, tied as closely together as there are vast gulfs between them, and one of them joining with a mortal is, functionally for the effect it has on the resultant offspring and their potential effect on the world, the same as another.

So, then, the least amount of time and effort on the divine side of things to make it happen when and where it has to. When it's _necessary_ it do. At least Poseidon had had to do it more than him, but Poseidon is not burdened by any of this knowledge, and even if he was - would he care? Would he actually understand?

Zeus sighs, tipping his head back to stare up at the darkening sky. There are stars peeking out towards east, with a line of disappearing fire still colouring the horizon to the west. It's as beautiful as it was the first time he saw it, looking at the sky as a day-old child. Whatever the need was it be done back then, the effect will keep echoing forward through the blood of humanity even if it is really only the direct offspring of a mortal and a god who will notice the effects of what having a divine parent means.

Ananke hasn't left yet. They are wrapped around him warmly, impressing no greater need on him than companionable silence. Still, it's they who speaks up first, gentling them past a vague question Zeus has never asked but has harboured for a long time.

"It's you because it has to be." That's reassuring, and damning.

"It's me because I marked myself, didn't I?" Zeus can't help the edge of sourness, understanding the chain of events that led to this, that both made him and had him make himself into what he is, and put himself here, one of the direct mediators of Ananke. The Moirai are as well, but they deal more with humans in specific, different ways. It's not the same, but they are both, well. Necessary.

"Few can become dying and rising gods," they whisper, Chthonic chill and life-giving radiance in the feeling of those words. "And doing so young leaves marks, yes. But if you weren't you, it might have been Apollo instead to hear like this."

Zeus knows Apollo almost does even as it is, so closely attuned to Fate and the ephemeral background works of cosmos as he is - what Zeus has to impart to his son by himself, Apollo understands with barely a nudge or two. Zeus is glad it isn't more than that, though. Apollo has enough work, his delightfully radiant son, and this is--- He freezes, frowning.

"Am I here merely bec---"

"Zeus." The ringing proclamation of his name could've shattered him and spread his essence out over the cosmos if Ananke hadn't taken care. "You would not have needed to be one of the rulers to do what you are doing; the power behind the throne can be more total than the throne itself. You are here, as you are and with your brothers, because of _you_."

"All right." 

He sinks back into his seat, relaxing a little. So it wasn't _ananke_ that he be the ruler of Olympos; that was reassuring, maybe childishly so. It was, rather, because it suited him, because he'd wanted it, because he'd thought it necessary and that he was one of the few that could do it. Because he'd thought it his right. So he was here because he'd searched it out, because it'd seemed reasonable to him, Poseidon and Hades that they divide the rule between them. Reasonable and fair, when there were three of them, though Zeus holds a sliver's edge of higher authority. Poseidon hates it like nothing else and always has to test him at every twist and turn. That's something, at least. But so many things he's had to do were because it was necessary they were done, or made into happening, and no one that didn't know could know that (and if he told, they would most often forget anyway). All of this because it's not, after all, as if there is a plan. Zeus knows that more intimately than anything else, by, well, the necessity of the thing. One event builds on the next, some events get fixed in advance, in shape and form and thrust of them, because of past events, or because of the general flow of everything up until a point, but none of that is predetermined in its entirety. Prophecy for humans are as iron-clad as they might be possibility only, and human choices make or break them; building blocks that might make future necessity and fate, or were made into fate because of something past.

He sits there, watching night spread over this half of the world, and, slowly, smiles.

"It's beautiful."

Maybe he's a little annoyed still, but mostly it's fine. He just hopes there's nothing going on right now that has him acting unknowingly as willed, but if there is, he won't know until later, anyway.

"It is."

Ananke suffuses him, cosmic pleasure at the sight and meaning of it, and then they depart, leaving Zeus alone on the mountaintop.


End file.
